


Of The Covenant

by BenevolentErrancy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenevolentErrancy/pseuds/BenevolentErrancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius' grandfather decides to pay Marius a visit during an ABC meeting.<br/>Les Amis decide that this was a poor decision on his part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of The Covenant

**Author's Note:**

> A short, completely self-indulgent piece written because an anon on tumblr (http://benevolenterrancy.tumblr.com/post/126262122271/i-feel-like-in-a-lot-of-five-marius-relationship) was asking me about Les Amis sticking up for Marius against his shitty grandfather, and I was happy to oblige

This wasn’t suppose to happen, today had been a good day.

It was summer break and the day was so unbearably hot that the air seemed to hum from it, but it made sitting in the air-conditioned café, cup of lemonade in hand, all the more pleasant.  Everyone was feeling happy and relaxed – there were no screaming matches going on, Grantaire was mostly sober and content to cuddle with Joly and Bossuet in one of the old armchairs that aspired to be a small couch, and the most excited thing that had happened was Marius getting to announce that he’d gotten off the waitlist for Introduction to Latin, a class with one of his favourite professors that he had been wanting to take for over a year.  Honestly, with Enjolras standing on the table, talking passionately about something Marius hadn’t been following, Combeferre and Feuilly talking quietly between each other, and Courfeyrac sitting next to him, alternating between exclaiming loudly in agreement with Enjolras and pressing his phone into Marius’ hands every time he found another amusing picture on the internet, the day had been nearly perfect with the promise of fading into a perfect, summer evening.

But then  _he_  had appeared and suddenly everything was wrong and Marius was ten years old again and the perfection crumbled.

It hadn’t even been that noticeable at first, which was weird, because somehow Marius always figured when he saw his grandfather again there’d be…  _something_. Anything.  An ominous thunderclap, distant screams, a sudden tense silence to descend to indicate that a showdown was about to take place.  Something more than the soft swoosh of the Musain door opening and closing, the brief sound of traffic, and then, cutting through him like a knife: “So  _this_  is where you’ve been wasting your time.”

The entrance was so unremarkable in fact that no one else even realized that the dry, old voice was addressing anyone one in the group; Enjolras kept yelling about politics, the others kept chatting or interjecting comments into Enjolras’ speech, and only Marius realized that this comfortable, perfect world had just broken.

“I could have gotten you into any club in the city, Marius, and you decide to waste your time with hippie radical garbage?  This better be some stupid rebellious streak; you’d better not be serious Marius, you can’t be this dense after everything I’ve tried to teach you.”

Marius jumped from his seat like he’d been shocked, horrified.  Enjolras had stumbled in his speech and Marius could feel his eyes boring into the back of his head – even now Marius preferred to avoid Enjolras’ ire and he didn’t want to be the cause of some sort of distraction.  He hurried around the scattered chairs and tables to where his grandfather was crossing the café, trying to cut him off and hoping to block the entire scene with his back, praying the others simply looked away until he was done.  He didn’t want to feel their annoyance or amusement or, or, or any of it.  He couldn’t stand to have them sit there and watch this.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in an undertone, trying to coax his grandfather by will alone to lower his voice.

His grandfather paid him no mind, not that that was unexpected.  “I came to find you since apparently you can’t keep your head on straight enough to remember to pick up a phone every now and again. Honestly, Marius, you can be a mindless little tit but this is something else.”

Marius flushed, unsure if he was angry or embarrassed, and was trying to think of something, anything to respond with (“I didn’t reply to your messages because I  _didn’t want to talk to you_ ,” was tempting but he couldn’t say that to his grandfather, he just… couldn’t.  He hadn’t had the strength to talk to his grandfather like that since the night he left, now the best he could do was avoid him, pathetic…) when Bahorel’s voice boomed up over the suddenly much quieter café.

“Who the fuck is this old guy?  Don’t think I’m above sending him out on his wrinkly ass, because that’s really fucking tempting right now.”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing that either, ‘cause either you decided ‘hippie radicals’ just weren’t cutting it for weird ass friends, Pontmercy, or the Musain has succeeded in getting an even shittier stock of random loiterers than usual,” drawled Grantaire’s voice from where he sat – he hadn’t moved, but when Marius glanced over in surprise he could see that he was no longer leaning back, but sitting up straight, tense, as if waiting for something.

“I– this is my grandfather,” said Marius, who was honestly surprised that anyone cared enough to ask, he had expected everyone to realize this was about Marius, not them, and continue on with the meeting until Marius rejoined them.

“Wait wait wait,  _this_  is your grandfather?” asked Courfeyrac, voice suddenly sharp and face like a thundercloud as he rose from his seat.  And he wasn’t the only one; with a disconcerting amount of organization the rest of Les Amis were slowly rising.

“You’ve got some sort of problem with my grandson?” demanded Gillenormand, puffing himself up and staring down his nose at the others.  

This was a look that had terrified Marius as a child, this had meant he had been  _bad_ , that he had been  _wrong_ , but… Marius was finding it surprisingly hard to feel cowed by that sort of look now when he could see Bahorel, built along similar lines as a bulldozer, looming  like a threat, or even gentle Combeferre standing at his whole, intimidating 6'3” with his arms crossed.

“Not the grandson, no,” said Jehan.

Gillenormand wrinkled his nose, and stared Jehan up and down, taking in their floral sundress, three overlapping scarves all in a different pattern, and combat boots.  Marius knew what was about to leave his grandfather’s mouth before it was said, but it didn’t stop him from flinching regardless.

“Is this some sort of queer thing,” he demanded, distaste nearly tangible as it dripped from his tongue.  “Don’t tell me you’re still playing at that bullshit, Marius.  I told you, I know people that’ll fix that, if you insist on–”

“Sir, I think it’s time you leave,” said Musichetta.  She was still wearing her waitressing uniform, but even in the frilly white blouse, skirt, heels, and apron she held herself in a way that brooked no argument.

“I’m here to talk to my grandson,” snapped Guillenormand, and Marius could see in the lines of his body and tone of his voice that he was getting properly angry now.  

He recoiled from that all too familiar anger and was baffled to find not the empty, lonely air that he was used to stepping back into – something that offered no more protection than a couple inches of extra space from his grandfather – but gentle hands taking hold of his arms.  These hands pulled him further back and Marius was surprised when he found himself pushed behind Enjolras who had left the table and was now standing with the rest of the pack that had inexplicably gotten up to join Marius and his grandfather’s meeting. Of all the people here, surely Enjolras at least should be getting annoyed about everyone getting distracted, but there he was, righteous fury colouring his face, entire body turned on Gillenormand like an drawn arrow.  Marius didn’t question it though, not out loud at least, because it was too much of a relief to be distanced from his grandfather and to feel himself being held by Joly and Bossuet who had vacated their chair.

“I’m here to talk to my grandson,” said Gillenormand, “not get bossed around by some  _tart_ –”

Now Bossuet and Joly gave indignant roars but Musichetta stood her ground.

“And I’m telling you, as an employee of this café, that we don’t tolerate that sort of language here and that you need to leave.  And I’m telling you, as Marius’ friend, that you need to get your ass out of my fucking café before I call security.”

Nothing fazed Gillenormand though, he just got red faced and  _angrier_. “You think you can treat me like that?  You expect me to believe some backwater little hovel like this has  _security_ –”

“We volunteer,” said Feuilly coolly.

“It’s sort of a hobby,” added Bahorel,  a dangerous sort of cheer in his voice.  

Well, Gillenormand finally seemed to really take notice of the people standing behind Marius, and whatever thoughts he might have on “queers” and “hippie radicals” lost a little strength when faced by the work-hardened muscles that ran up and down Feuilly’s arms and the brick wall that was Bahorel.  Marius watched in fascination as his unshakable, unstoppable, all-powerful grandfather’s eyes darted a little, acknowledging that the group wasn’t only willowy Jehan and plump, cheery-faced Joly and other people that Marius knew Gillenormand mentally categorized as The Gays, but also people like six foot tall and furious Enjolras or Grantaire who looked capable of gleefully punching you out in a bar brawl.

“Marius, this is ridiculous,” snapped Gillenormand, not stepping back but somehow, in a way Marius had never known was possible, retreating slightly.  “You’ve had your fun but this farce has gone on long enough.  It’s time you’ve come home.”

“Marius doesn’t have to go anywhere he doesn’t want to,” said Courfeyrac firmly.

Joly’s hand on his arm tightened slightly, reassuringly, and it was only then that Marius realized he had started to shake slightly.

“Of course he wants to go with me!” roared Gillenormand.  “I’m his grandfather!  I  _raised_  him.”

“Don’t we know,” muttered Grantaire, mostly to himself.

“And we’re his friends,” said Jehan.  “Some of us he  _chooses_ to spend time with because he loves us and we love him.  The other is only forced on him because of blood.”

“Marius?” asked Enjolras, turning his gaze from Gillenormand to Marius just as Gillenormand was starting to response indignantly to Jehan.  “What do you want?”

And normally Marius would be intimidated, being faced by Enjolras’ glare. A part of Marius wondered if he shouldn’t just agree to go with his grandfather to get out of everybody’s hair and let them get on with the meeting.  But… none of this had gone like he had expected, and it was with a strange epiphany that made Marius realize that Enjolras’ gaze wasn’t directed  _at_  him, so much as Enjolras was requesting Marius give it direction. Protective, not aggressive.  When he was asking what Marius wanted, he  _genuinely wanted to know what Marius wanted_. And the others, tense and ready, were waiting not on Enjolras’ word but on Marius’.

“I’ve said everything I have to say to you,” said Marius, voice remarkably steady as he turned back to face his grandfather.  “I’m staying right here.  If I ever do want to talk to you again… I’ll contact you.   _I_  will.”

“You little idiot–” started Gillenormand but nothing held Les Amis back any longer and they pushed forward, past Marius, like a tide.

“Like we’ve been saying,” growled Bahorel’s voice, “it’s time for you to leave.”

Marius caught the final glare Gillenormand shot in his direction before the old man’s form disappeared behind the wall of Marius’ friends.  And he left.  Of course, faced with a force like that pressing forward against you, there wasn’t much of a choice except move or be moved, but still… he left.  He was gone.  He heard Musichetta slam the door shut behind him and finally the tension released from Marius’ body and he was able to sink backwards into an empty chair at one of the now empty tables.  His friends – his  _friends_  – stood around him.

“I– I’m sorry,” said Marius, more out of reflex than anything.  “I didn’t mean to…”

Courfeyrac cut him off then, throwing himself into a chair next to Marius. “What,” he exclaimed loudly, “an unspeakable ass.  I’ve changed my mind, you have definitely been giving this guy  _way_ too much credit, nothing could have prepared me for that.  Good fucking riddance.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” said Marius in a small voice.  He was horrified to realize his eyes were prickling – he had gone that entire encounter without crying but he could feel the all too familiar burn in the back of his eyes now.

“Hard not to notice that much dickbaggery in one room,” remarked Grantaire.  “I thought I was going to suffocate on it.”

“No one deserves to be treated like that,” said Enjolras.

“Especially not by someone who’s suppose to care for you,” Feuilly added.

“You’re our friend, Marius,” said Jehan.  “We’d never just sit back and let someone act like that to you, especially not when you’ve already told us about how he treated you as a kid.  Do you need a hug, darling?”

Marius meant to shake his head no, but he was scrubbing at his eyes and didn’t resist when Jehan folded him into their arms.  Or when he felt other hands and arms join in, pressing against him,  forming a safe, warm shell against everything he wasn’t ready to deal with on his own.  It was good, having friends.


End file.
